


continuum

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, F/M, I make jokes about Clarke and her gun, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Season/Series 01, as one does to cope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “Yeah, that’s good,” he says, his mouth right next to her ear. “Just like that, princess.”It’s the way he says it, lips brushing the helix of her ear when he speaks, voice deep and low and so fucking hot.The words themselves ignite something deep inside of her, casting a warm glow over her skin and Clarke finds herself flushing as she resists clenching her thighs together, the sudden wave of arousal hitting her like a tsunami.Fuck.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 57
Kudos: 398





	1. how it starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohpottermycaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpottermycaptain/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday Chara! Sorry for dragging you into this ship all those years ago but uh, have some fic to make up for it?
> 
> Title unabashedly stolen from Tanerélle's song of the same name

_(i) How it starts_

Here’s the thing about Earth: Clarke hates it.

Sure, when she was on the Ark it was all she thought about but now, after living on this hell of a planet for the last few weeks, she can officially say that earth _sucks_. It’s deadly, and dangerous, and the weather is a fucking pain, always either too fucking humid or too fucking cold.

So yeah. Earth is a fucking hellhole.

But it has its appeals sometimes. She won’t deny that.

She likes feeling the sun on her face and floating in the lazy current of the stream. She likes the moonshine that they make in abundance that gets her limbs loose and relaxed. She likes the freedom, the ability to sneak around like an actual teenager without fear of any actual retribution. Hooking up is ten times sexier when you don’t have to worry about getting caught and floated for being out past curfew.

And it would be fun if she could do those things but as it happens, earth still _sucks_ and Clarke can’t do any of that because she’s too busy making sure everyone survives.

Fuck this planet, honestly.

-

Clarke likes to go on scavenging expeditions with Bellamy. 

They have a rule at camp that if you’re leaving to go outside the wall then you need to be part of a group of four or more. She and Bellamy are exceptions to that rule of course. Whenever Clarke wants to leave camp she always goes with Bellamy.

Just Bellamy.

It’s not-- it doesn’t mean anything, not like that at least. Shut up.

They have an _understanding_.

It’s hard running things when you’re still a teenager, harder yet when you’re younger than a couple of the people you’re supposed to lead. Clarke deals with that on a daily basis but with Bellamy it’s not like that. There are no power dynamics or fights to earn each other’s respect (at least, not anymore) but instead there’s a mutual trust and understanding.

She likes that, likes the fact that these little excursions give her an excuse to relax just a little bit. He lets her relax a little bit.

It’s funny how she starts to feel more relaxed out in the open where an animal or a person can attack at any given time than she does cooped up inside that camp. Clearly there’s something wrong with her, like, mentally. That’s the only explanation she has.

-

She pesters Bellamy into checking out a supply depot for at least a week before he finally gives in. 

This time it’s a good trek away, the entire trip taking them an estimated two days to go there and come back which is why he was initially sceptical.

But their last few trips like this yielded good results-- clothes, blankets, medical supplies, and of course most notably, guns-- so he’s trusting that she knows what she’s talking about. Which she does. Once the nearby river hasn’t completely diverted its course in the last hundred years and completely washed away the bunker.

Hey, stranger things have happened on this bitch of a planet.

“This better be worth it, princess,” he says when she meets him by the gates early next morning. “I am not going through all of this for nothing.”

“Relax,” she says, glancing at their old and creased map again. “There’s supposed to be an old town about fifty miles from here. Kind of far but it’s bigger than all the others we’ve been to.”

He just grunts in response and sets off in the direction she points them in.

There’s a slight chill in the air as autumn has truly set in and Clarke finds herself drawing her jacket closer around her shoulders as they make their way through the trees. Bellamy keeps conversation going, mainly about camp matters-- guard scheduling, hunting updates, construction progress. Miller is in charge of those things while he’s gone and they’re expected to finish the kitchen and smokehouse over the next couple of days. Clarke’s looking forward to coming back home and finding an actual proper kitchen. One that raccoons can’t get into and steal their food.

They break for lunch when the sun is directly above them, splitting a packet of jerky and some nuts along the riverbank. They only stay put for about a half hour before they’re back at it, Bellamy intending on reaching the town before nightfall.

He gets his wish of course, especially after successfully bullying Clarke into keeping up with him. Their eyes land on the old and crumbling buildings just as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon.

He shoots her a triumphant smirk. “I told you we could make it in time if you hurried.”

Clarke, who’s clutching the stitch in her side after power walking the last six miles to keep up with him, glares up at his stupid face. “You’re actually a psychopath,” she says, panting a little.

Bellamy just claps her on the shoulder. “And you make fun of me for running around camp on mornings.”

It brings a dull flush to the surface of her cheeks as that image comes to the front of her mind, unbidden. Bellamy, shirtless and covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he runs laps around the camp, his fringe sticking to his forehead and the way he breathes heavily as he nears the end of it.

More than once Clarke has imagined him just like that, sweaty and out of breath, in other more… _enjoyable_ scenarios.

It’s a problem.

So she thinks her co-leader is hot, sue her. Besides, it’s not like every other hot blood person who’s into men doesn’t think the same thing. Bellamy is nice to look at.

Nicer to be with too, at least, that’s according to the rumours she’s heard.

She shakes her head to clear the remnants of the day dream. “Come on, let’s start looking to see what we’ll find. If there’s a lot then we can store it and send a big group out next week.”

“I wish Raven would hurry up and finish messing around with that stupid rover she forced us to bring back to camp for her,” he grumbles as they pick their way down the sloped side of the hill that leads into the town. “God knows it would be useful.”

She snorts. “Raven isn’t going to be satisfied until that thing can be used as a modified spaceship.”

Bellamy just sighs and keeps walking, stopping only once to help her across a fallen tree.

The town was just as run down as she expected, already picked apart by grounders and those that managed to survive after the bombs fell. But they still do manage to find some good stuff-- a couple heavy winter jackets and wool coats, some clean linen that she could use in medical as bandages, some old books which haven’t been completely destroyed by the elements, and--

“Guns,” Bellamy breathes after kicking open a sealed trap door in the backroom of one of the shops.

It’s not as much as they found on that very first trip together, but it’s still a pretty big deal. Three rifles, half a dozen shotguns and a couple of glocks. Clarke finds herself eyeing one of the handguns, a small thing, just like the one Bellamy had when they first got to earth.

“My trip was worth it after all, huh,” she says slyly as she traces the barrel of the gun.

Never one to concede defeat easily, Bellamy just grits his teeth and says, “Maybe you had a point after all.”

“Face it, Blake,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into his while he catalogues all the guns and ammunition they found, “I’m amazing.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, princess.”

She leaves him in the backroom taking apart the guns and cleaning them while she flits from store to store, grabbing whatever it is she needs. They can’t carry all of this back by themselves obviously, but Clarke still grabs everything that’s salvageable to store until they can send a larger group back out. 

When she returns Bellamy is in the exact same spot that she left him in, crouched over the small work table as he meticulously takes apart and cleans the small handgun she was watching before.

He glances up when she walks back in and smirks. “Hey look, this one is Clarke sized,” he says, holding up the gun as he puts the final pieces back together.

She flushes, despite herself. “Shut up.”

“Do you want it?”

She blinks. “What?” she asks, convinced that she misheard him.

“Do you want this one?” he says again, gesturing to the gun still in his hands. “I know they’re supposed to be for the camp, blah blah blah, but hey,” he throws a disarmingly charming smile her way that leaves her dazed for a moment, “What’s the point of being leaders if we can’t bend the rules ever so often?”

Still thrown by his words, Clarke finds herself blurting out, “I don’t know how to shoot a gun.”

The smile doesn’t slip once from his face. In fact, it twists into a smirk. “Then I’ll teach you. Properly this time,” he says, handing over the gun.

“What, right here?”

“Well we can go outside if that makes it better.” He slaps the concrete wall next to him. “Room is too small anyway. Don’t need any bullets ricocheting.”

“What if I shoot you?” she asks, gnawing her bottom lip.

His smirk just widens. “You’re not gonna shoot me, Clarke,” he says, pressing the gun more firmly into her hand. “Not even you can be that bad a shot.”

“Maybe I’ll shoot you on purpose,” she snarks back at him, “You know, for being an ass.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

She points two fingers at him and mime pulling a trigger. “Bang,” she says, jerking her hand back. Bellamy clutches his chest and groans dramatically, making her giggle. “You’re so fucking stupid,” she says, despite the big grin that splits her face.

“And you’re deflecting,” he counters smoothly, “Come on, stop fooling around and let me teach you. This could save your life one day.”

She grips the gun properly, feeling the weight of it in her hand. It’s heavier than she thought it would be. “Fine,” she agrees at least, “But only one round. We don’t need to waste bullets on my pathetic ass.”

He nods. “As you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to set up a makeshift shooting range outside for her to practice. He finds an old, half rotted piece of plywood and carves a crude bullseye in the centre of it before propping it up. Meanwhile, Clarke’s hands feel clammy as she passes the gun from one hand to the next. There’s a heavy dose of adrenaline and fear mixing in her veins.

“Alright,” he says a few moments later when everything is finally fixed to his liking. His eyes survey her form critically and she finds herself blushing, scrambling to stand straight. “Let’s see your stance.”

She awkwardly widens her stance, trying to evenly distribute her weight between both of her legs before she lifts the gun up in front of her, holding it with both hands.

“Well, it’s a start,” he says, and next thing she knows Bellamy is crowding into her space and adjusting her limbs to suit. “Your base is there for you to keep your balance. The studier it is, the less likely you are to fall over.” His foot taps the outside of hers. “Move this one a bit forward.”

She does as she’s told and immediately feels ten times better about her balance and positioning.

Bellamy notices and chuckles behind her. “Now adjust your hips,” he says, brushing a hand over them, “Treat it as a hinge to push your weight forward.”

His touch makes her stomach flip in excitement and on her next exhale, Clarke finds that her breath is shaky.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he says, his mouth right next to her ear. “Just like that, princess.”

It’s the way he says it, lips brushing the helix of her ear when he speaks, voice deep and low and so fucking _hot_.

The words themselves ignite something deep inside of her, casting a warm glow over her skin and Clarke finds herself flushing as she resists clenching her thighs together, the sudden wave of arousal hitting her like a tsunami.

Fuck.

Bellamy is oblivious to all of it of course, the hand he has on her back feeling hot and heavy even through her thick Ark issued jacket. “That’s it,” he coaxes her as she tries to hold the gun steady in her hands. “You’re almost there.”

Clarke doesn’t know what is it about his words, the cavalier way he praises her for just holding the stupid gun, but it feels like honey being dripped onto her skin.

If she’s being honest, the rest of that lesson passes in a blur. She can’t recall a single word that Bellamy said other than the praise he dropped on her when she did something correctly-- finally got the correct stance, the correct hold. When she shot her first bullet and it hit the edge of the target but still got a ‘good try’ from him.

Her skin simultaneously feels too hot and too tight whenever he speaks and she wants to crawl out of it. Her legs feel like jelly, the blood coursing through her veins electrified and shocking her whenever he touches her body.

Bellamy takes the gun from her and fires a single shot, hitting the bullseye directly, and she feels the slickness building in her underwear as her cunt aches to be filled with something sweet, and _Jesus fucking Christ,_ Clarke can’t believe she’s getting turned on by watching him handle a gun.

“Come on,” he says, completely oblivious to her mental turmoil right now, “Try to hit the target again.”

His eyes are dark as she steps forward. When she reaches to take the gun from him, his fingers graze her skin, making her visibly shiver, and his eyes darken even further.

Okay, maybe not that oblivious she corrects herself, biting down on her bottom lip as she gazes up at him. Bellamy holds her stare for a beat longer before looking away and clearing his throat.

“Have at it, princess.”

She shoots three more times. The first one goes wide, landing in the outermost circle. The second one is just a bit better, shifting more towards the centre. And the third bullet hits the edge of the ring of the bullseye.

A rush goes through her when it lands there and she can hear Bellamy whooping in the background. It’s not a direct hit but it’s the best and closest she’s gotten all day so she counts that as a win. Clarke might not be able to kill someone with her handgun but she could cause some serious damage and that’s good enough for her.

He’s suddenly there right beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder. “Look at that,” he says, grinning down at her and _oh_ , it makes her go stupid for a second. Sometimes she forgets just how attractive Bellamy can be.

The hand on her shoulder squeezes it lightly as he remains ignorant of her thoughts. “You did good, princess.”

“Watch out Blake, I’m coming for your crown.”

He snorts at that. “Easy there babe, let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

It’s the easy way he calls her _babe_ that makes her stomach flip and strokes the flames of her arousal higher.

Rocking up on her heels, Clarke is fully aware that what she’s about to do is playing with fire, but she can’t help herself. Not when he’s looking at her like _that_ , calling her all of those sweet names.

“I think I deserve something for all my hard work,” she says sweetly, large innocent blue eyes staring back up at him. She takes note of how his eyes flick down to look at her mouth for a split second before he glances back up at her.

“You want a round of applause?” he asks, gruff, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

She pretends to consider it. “That could be a start,” she says. Feeling bold, Clarke lets her hand fall to his bicep, tracing the vein that runs through it all the way down to his forearm. “You’re a good teacher.”

“You’re a quick learner,” he says, watching as her fingers move across his skin, down to his hand before tracing the gun that he was holding loosely.

“I’m an even quicker study,” she tells him, pitching her voice low and watching as the muscle in his jaw jumps.

The air is thick with tension between them, a heaviness much like the one that settles in Clarke’s muscles, that sweet burn of electricity that buzzes right under her skin.

Bellamy licks his lips before they curl into a smirk. The hand that he had on her shoulder is now resting easily on her hip, having migrated there throughout the course of their conversation. “That a promise, princess?” he asks, his head tipping down as he gets closer to her.

She meets her smirk with one of her own and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a tease,” he says, growling softly.

He slowly backs her up against the wall, flinging the gun somewhere on the floor as he finally gets both hands on her. Clarke barely gives any thought about it other than being thankful that the safety was on, too engrossed by him. Everything about him. His touch, his smell, his voice… fuck all of it was doing it just right for her.

Despite the desire pulsing in her veins, Clarke can’t help but to be a brat. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” she challenges him, sticking her chest out and hooking her fingers through his belt loops.

Bellamy throws his head back and laughs. “What am I going to do about it,” he repeats, almost mocking her with his tone, “Come on, princess. You sure you want to play this game?”

She has another snarky reply on the tip of her tongue but she ends up choking on it when he flexes his hands on her hips, squeezing so tight that she’s sure it’s going to leave some blue spots. Just the thought of it makes her get even wetter.

A hand slowly skirts up the side of her body, tracing her breast through the thin material of her henley, fingers dancing up the side of her neck before he finally gets to her face, cupping her jaw. “Because the way I see it,” he continues, completely ignoring the response he drew from her, “I think you want to be good for me.”

That same hand shifts a little, cupping her throat lightly as he trails his thumb down the line of her trachea. “Don’t you want to be good for me, princess?”

God, she’s just-- Clarke doesn’t know how to react to his words.

Sure, she’s fantasised about him before, about this before, but never in her wildest dreams would she expect Bellamy to be saying those things. To get a read on all of her deepest, darkest desires so quickly and draw them out with just a few sentences.

Fuck, she’s never been this soaked in her entire _life_.

She can’t help the soft whimper that escapes her lips. “Please,” she says, her voice a whisper.

He smirks triumphantly down at her. “There we go,” he croons, “Good girl.”

For all his talk, when Bellamy finally kisses her he’s soft, almost hesitant in the way he goes about it. His lips are cautious but the kiss itself still manages to be downright filthy, the way he sucks on her bottom lip before tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. Clarke likes kissing. She always finds that first kisses especially tend to be a preview for what’s to come.

And judging from the way this kiss alone is making her toes curl. Well.

Clarke figures she’s in for a good time.

Her fingers twist in his hair, tugging on it gently, and he moans into her mouth as he kisses her harder, deeper. There’s an almost frantic quality to it now, carnal in the way their teeth clack and how she bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

She’s almost dizzy, nothing but a constant stream of _Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy_ playing in her mind as he kisses her hard enough to see stars.

He pulls back just far enough for them to breathe, his eyes bright and wild while his mouth is bruised and kiss bitten. Clarke’s pretty sure she looks the same way, completely wrecked by him already, and god, she wants this more than anything else in the world.

“God, do you have any fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he asks, his nose bumping into hers as they both breathe in each other’s space. “And then today, _fuck_.”

“What?” she asks breathlessly, her hands tangling in his hair of his own accord, “What about today?”

“Today when we came out here and you kept on looking at me like _that_ ,” he murmurs, skimming across her cheek. His teeth graze her earlobe and Clarke makes a soft, needy sound in the back of her throat. 

“Like what?” she manages to say, even as he clouds her mind. Clarke’s proud of herself for managing to speak actual english and not gibberish given just how much he’s distracting her.

Bellamy places a soft kiss behind her ear and her entire body jerks. “Like you wanted to consume me,” he murmurs. He presses another kiss to the hinge of her jaw. “Like you were ready to have your way with me.” He continues down the line of her jaw until he gets to her neck and he stops, breathing in deeply the scent of her skin before pulling back to look at her.

His eyes are dark, wholly dominated by his pupils and Clarke shudders, want coursing through her veins and driving her almost senseless.

Bellamy pushes her further up against the wall and slots a knee between her legs, pressing directly up into her heat and she can’t help the way it drags a ragged moan out of her. He smirks at her, one hand still cupping her face while the other skims up the side of her oversensitive body.

He leans in close, pressing his forehead against hers. “You kept on looking at me like you wanted to _fuck_ me,” he says, low and dark, and she can’t help but rock her hips down against his leg as another wave of arousal crashes through her.

“I do,” she says, her voice shot to hell. Her hands land on his belt buckle, tugging at it. “I do want to fuck you.”

He bats her hands away. “Easy, princess,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again. “Patience. I wanna have some fun first.”

She whines into his mouth, impatient, but it’s quickly replaced by a groan when he slips a hand down the front of her jeans and palms her through the flimsy material of her underwear.

“God, you’re fucking dripping, Clarke,” he tells her, sounding absolutely amused by the fact. It causes a blush to rise to her cheeks and she finds herself turning away from him. “Aw, come on baby. Don’t you want me to fuck you?”

She nods.

“Then you have to look at me,” he tells her.

She hesitates for just a brief moment before turning back to look up at him and he rewards her with a kiss. “Good girl,” he says again and fuck, she absolutely hates the effect those words have on her.

He seems to realise it, and his smirk grows bigger at the same rate of her embarrassment. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Bellamy,” she whines, thrashing in his grip. He’s just teasing her through her panties, lightly stroking up and down over her slit and giving her no reprieve. She bucks her hips against the flat of his palm and he chuckles.

“It’s okay, princess, I got you,” he tells her before he pushes her panties to the side and slips in two of his fingers without warning, burying them knuckle deep in her cunt. Clarke cries out at the suddenness of it all and he drops featherlight kisses across her face. “I got you,” he says again as he begins to move them.

He kisses the curve of her cheekbone, down to the edge of her jaw. “Look at you. Look how gorgeous you are like this. Taking my fingers so well.” He continues to pump in and out of her pussy and his words make her walls spasm against him. “Almost as good as you’ll take my cock, right baby?”

She nods her head frantically, her mind too blurred by pleasure to really pay attention to his words. “Yes. Anything you want just-- fuck, _Bellamy_.”

Her entire body jerks when his thumb finds her clit, rubbing soft little circles into it.

“That’s it,” he coos. “Next time I promise I’ll take things slow, draw it out a bit longer, but I have a feeling that you needed this. Isn’t that right Clarke?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes open. She wants to be able to see him. Wants to drink in that dark sensual look on his face as he takes control of her body.

She can feel the way her muscles tighten as she nears her peak, and Bellamy must feel it too because he redoubles his efforts, applying more pressure to her clit until she finally breaks apart, coming with a loud groan.

He fucks her through it, short shallow thrusts just to give her something to clench down on as she rides it out and when Clarke finally gets a hold of her bearings she mewls softly, pushing his hand away from her oversensitive skin.

Her body has been reduced to jelly and she jerks when he finally pulls his fingers out. He says something that she doesn’t quite catch over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, but what she _does catch_ is his hand, slipping his fingers into her mouth and sucking the taste of herself off them.

That’s what seems to do it for him judging from the sharp inhale of air he takes. Clarke just stares up at him with doe eyes as she flicks her tongue over the tip.

“Fuck Clarke,” he half laughs/ half groans. ‘You’re just full of surprises aren’t you.”

“What can I say, I like keeping you on your toes,” she says, her voice a bit scratchy from all of her moaning.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” he says, pulling his fingers out and kissing her deep and dirty. He groans as he chases the taste of her in her mouth and his free hand slips under her shirt to knead her tits through the soft cup of her bra.

She mewls into his mouth, hands going to his belt again, and this time Bellamy doesn’t stop her.

“God, I needed to get my hands on your tits since yesterday,” he tells her, pushing her top up over her chest and folding the cups down so her breasts spill out. He flicks a thumb at one nipple while his mouth sucks hard at the other. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Clarke lets him play around for a moment because shit, that feels nice, each tug of her nipple linked directly to her clit. She’s already drenched from coming just minutes before but Bellamy’s ministrations make her even wetter, already craving something sweet to fill her up.

“Come on Bellamy,” she whines, tugging on his hair. “I wanna fuck you.”

It gets a laugh out of him. “Alright, babe,” he says, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re always so impatient. And bossy.”

“I just know what I want,” she corrects him, getting the belt undone and flicking open the snap to his cargo pants.

“Hey I didn’t say anything about it,” he protests before pulling back a little to smirk at her. “It’s hot.”

“Enough talking,” she grumbles. She palms his bulge through his pants and he swears something absolutely _filthy_.

Bellamy pins her to the wall, holding her in place as he gets his trousers undone just enough to pull his cock out and she finds herself watching as he strokes it leisurely. Her mouth is dry, even as she swallows, and she feels renewed arousal coursing through her.

He’s big.

Much bigger than any other guy she’s fooled around with.

A thrill of excitement shoots through her.

“I don’t think you want me to stop talking,” he tells her, hiking up one of her legs around his hip. Her jeans are pushed down to about mid thigh, exposing her, and Bellamy grinds into her heat. “You like when I talk to you. You like when I tell you how pretty you look, or how good you’re being for me, don’t you baby?”

Clarke is almost driven mad with desire at this point, both from his words and from the way he teasingly drags his cock through her folds.

It’s not enough for him though because Bellamy slaps her ass, not hard enough to hurt but the sting of it definitely shocks her into listening, causing her to squeak.

“Fuck. Yeah Bellamy, I do,” she gasps, trying to grind down on him, to get some sort of friction to help take the edge off. “Please, god-- fuck, Bellamy I need you to fuck me.”

She finds herself blathering almost nonsensically, the words falling from her lips without much input from her brain as she finally gives in and begs him. Bellamy chuckles.

“There we go, sweet girl,” he says, trailing a finger down the soft skin of her cheek, completely at odds with the harsh way he’s gripping her hips, the stinging slap he delivered just moments before. “Now was that so hard.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer because then he’s entering her with one quick thrust that leaves him buried to the hilt.

They both swear, Clarke at the exquisite fullness and the pleasure-pain that accompanies the stretch of her walls, and Bellamy at the way her cunt is so wet and tight around him.

“God,” he gasps, letting his head fall to her chest as he takes a moment to get a hold of himself, “Fucking perfect little pussy right here.”

The praise blooms deep in her chest and a blush stains her cheek a pretty pink at his words. Clarke only has to tilt her hips forward just a bit before he starts to move and fuck, if she thought that first thrust was amazing then the following ones are even better.

He sets a gruelling pace, his hips canting up into hers while she grinds down to meet him. It’s not the best position for him to fuck her deep and slow, splitting her open until she’s driven wordless with pleasure, but Clarke’s certain that there’ll be time for that later.

Now though, he has her up against a wall, their hips furiously grinding against one another as he teases her with short, shallow thrusts, hitching her leg up even further around his waist, opening her up as far she can go.

“I knew you’d take me this good,” he tells her, panting in her neck, “You’re so perfect, so wet and tight and _perfect_ around my cock, princess. And the sounds you make… _fuck_.”

She whimpers, clutching on to his broad shoulders. “ _Bellamy_.”

“I got you. Don’t worry I got you.”

“I need more,” she groans.

He fucks up into her, hitting that one spot that makes her see white and she cries out. “What do you want, princess?” he asks, forehead pressed against hers. She watches as a droplet of sweat falls off of his fringe and lands on the curve of her chest. “Hands?”

“Yeah,” she says, shuddering as he wiggles a hand between their bodies. “Touch my clit. Make me come. I want to come on your cock.”

Her words activate something primal deep inside him and he’s right there, working at her clit as he increases the pace of his thrusts all while murmuring about how good she feels and how she’s fucking dripping and _yeah babe, I’m going to make you come on my cock, I’m gonna make you scream_.

She feels her orgasm taking root in her stomach, sending tendrils out to her limbs, and she can’t say anything except his name, a constant broken mantra falling from her lips.

Right before she reaches that breaking point she reaches for him, kissing him hard and bruising.

Bellamy kisses her back just as desperately, just as hard, licking into her mouth and deepening it until she sobs against his lips, limbs trembling as she finally reaches to that precipice.

It only takes one, two more thrusts, carefully synched to the rhythm he taps out against her clit and Clarke is coming, a wail so loud getting torn free of her throat that she’s certain anyone within a five mile radius might have heard her.

She gives in to the pleasure, feeling the way her cunt clenches around him. Distantly she feels the way his hips stutter against hers as Bellamy gets close, the way he seems to stiffen completely before relaxing as he spills deep inside her, but Clarke’s too caught up in her own pleasure to pay much attention to that.

She does hear the way he moans when he comes though, a fucking beautiful sound that has her cunt giving one last feeble twitch around him.

“That was…”

“Yeah I know.”

They end up sinking onto the dirt covered floor, limbs tangled together and chests heaving as they both struggle to catch their breaths. Somehow her head ends up on his shoulder and Bellamy pets down her spine as they float back down to earth.

His shirt is patchy with sweat and for the first time she realises that hers is too. Her hair sticks to her temples, to the back of her neck, a bit uncomfortable but Clarke can’t be bothered by it right now. 

She’s pretty sure she’s lost control of her limbs, at least for the moment.

Bellamy breathes deep and she’s determined to not be the one to break the silence that now lingers around them.

He seems to pick up on her sudden reticence and says, “So. That happened.”

For some inexplicable reasons she giggles.

And then it causes him to chuckle.

And before they know it, they’re both laughing on the ground, clothes askew and his come dripping on to her thighs, while they struggle to breathe through it all.

“So suave,” she teases him and Bellamy flicks her in the centre of her forehead.

“Shut up,” he grumps, a tinge of colour appears beneath his dark skin. “I can be suave. I think the last half hour or so showed you that.”

“And yet all you have to say in the aftermath is _‘so that happened’_ ,” she says, dropping her voice in a terrible impression of him.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kind of do.”

“Clarke.”

“Bellamy.”

He grabs her by the back of her neck and kisses her again, wet and messy, and it startles her.

Before she even has the chance to properly understand what’s happening, Bellamy pulls back, blushing even darker. He can’t seem to look her in the eye.

“Sorry,” he says after clearing his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” she finds herself asking, even though her brain is still struggling to process the last thirty seconds.

That seems to throw him for a loop. “Uh. I don’t actually know?”

It’s Clarke’s turn to lean in and kiss him, quick and chaste, and when she pulls back he looks up at her, blinking slightly.

“Well I think it’s fine,” she says in the most prissy princess voice she could muster.

“Right.” He clears his throat again. “We should probably make camp for the night.”

“We should.”

Neither of them make any move to get up. In fact, Bellamy starts to comb his fingers through her hair and Clarke sighs, nuzzling the crook of his neck. 

“We can make camp in a little while,” she murmurs, shifting a little in his lap, her hand tentatively seeking out his own to link their fingers together. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment.”

She swears she feels the ghost of his lips on the crown of her head but Clarke can’t be certain.

“Okay,” he agrees, slumping further back against the wall so they’re a bit more comfortable. 

They stay like that, all wrapped up in each other and cloaked in silence, until the last sliver of the sun disappears beneath the horizon.


	2. how it's going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His grin is sharp. “Good girl,” he says, “See, that wasn’t too hard.”
> 
> There’s those words again, the simple little good girl that he gives to her so easily, so casual. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t think much of but has Clarke’s skin tightening in anticipation.

_ (ii) How it’s going _

It’s easy to ignore that evening they spent in the old town. They both even agreed that it was just a spur of the moment stress reliever and they’re fine with it. She’s fine with it.

It’s all fucking  _ fine _ .

Things go back to normal.

Clarke goes back to the medbay patching kids up and helping Monty with his greenhouse project. Bellamy adds the extra guns to their stockpile and teaches them how to use and care for it while harping on and on about the responsibility that comes along with having one like the crotchety old man that he is. Honestly, she’d never think that the king of chaos was such a type A about these things but what can she say? Bellamy is a fucking enigma these days.

About a week later he takes a group with him back to the town to grab the rest of things that Clarke painstakingly grouped and sorted and packed and left behind after they… had their fun.

(She  _ does not _ spend her nights reminiscing about that thank you very much.)

It’s a large group that goes, about ten of them including Bellamy, and she’s effectively left alone in camp at the helm.

Well, she has Raven and Miller and Wells to lend a hand if need be but it’s not the same. She and Bellamy are the ones in charge, the ones everyone else looks to no matter what, including those three.

(Before he leaves Bellamy pulls her aside, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You gonna let me back into camp when I return?” he asks, “Or is this about to be a dictatorship the minute I step through those gates?”

“The latter obviously,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

It gets a chuckle out of him and he squeezes her shoulder, brief. “I knew you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

“Didn’t see any use in keeping you around. Sorry to break it to you this way.”

His lips curl up into a smirk and his gaze is heavy as it drags across her, Bellamy making no move to conceal his blatant once-over of her body. It makes her skin flush and toes curl, especially when his eyes lock with hers. She’s seen that look before. She’s  _ intimately _ aware of that look.

Bellamy leans in closer until his mouth is right by her ear and he murmurs, “I thought I proved my use to you very  _ thoroughly  _ last week.”

Gooseflesh covers her body and she bites her lip to avoid saying anything untoward. Bellamy steps back, putting a respectable amount of space between them once more before shooting her a boyish grin and saying, “Guess I’ll just have to remind you when I get back.”

He offers up a mocking salute before stalking off, leaving Clarke red faced and at a complete loss for words.)

* * *

It’s Jasper’s idea to have a party.

Clarke has stopped by his and Monty’s tent to pick up some more moonshine to use in medical and that’s all the prompting he needs to start telling her about his latest batch.

“It’s too good to waste on cuts and bruises,” he says, pouring out a small amount for her to taste. “You can’t use it for the outside wounds, this one is for the inside ones. The pain that you feel in here.” He taps a finger to his temple.

He passes the cup to her and Clarke hesitates for a moment. It’s the middle of the day and she has a camp to run. She can’t get shitfaced.

But it only is a mouthful if so much which is why after a brief second of deliberation, she steels herself and throws it back.

Jasper was right-- never thought she’d be saying  _ that _ \-- it is good. Unlike the first few attempts which she’s certain could be used as paint thinner, this one is smooth… almost  _ tasty _ . There’s still the bitter burn of alcohol scorching down her throat but it’s followed by a nice fruity aftertaste that lingers on her tongue.

She looks towards him questioningly and he grins. “We tried to infuse it with some wildberries that started going bad. You like it?”

“It  _ is _ good,” she grudgingly agrees, smacking her lips.

“I was thinking we could probably serve it to the camp,” he says, “You know, to boost morale.”

She lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “To boost morale.”

He nods. “Yeah. Take a night to let everyone relax a bit, have a drink, maybe do a bonfire--”

“I don’t think moonshine and bonfires are a good combination,” she says, dry, but Jasper is too caught up in his grand idea to pay much attention to her.

“--we could also do games and oh! I remember these videos on the Ark where people told stories and sang songs around a fire but that might be hard to do considering we don’t really have any instruments but I bet--”

“ _ Jasper _ .”

His mouth clicks shut and he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she says while rubbing the space between her brows.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Clarke hesitates for a moment. “Well it’s not half bad,” she grudgingly acknowledges.

It’s been about two months or so since they’ve been sent down and it finally feels like they’ve grasped their footing on earth. They have enough food for everyone to get three meals a day, albeit small ones, and they’re slowly working on a more permanent type of shelter with cabins and stout little shacks. Not to mention their scouting exercises which were almost always fruitful. They have clothes and medical supplies and  _ electricity _ thanks to Raven and her gorgeous brilliant brain.

It finally feels like they’re living instead of just surviving.

In front of her Jasper is gaping. “Are you serious?”

“Winter will be here soon, we’re ahead of schedule for the new cabins, and Bellamy and his boys will be coming back later with all the extra supplies we found last week,” she ticks off on her fingers, “Might as well have your party now. It’s as good a time as any.”

Jasper still looks a little awestruck and a bit suspicious, as if Clarke is playing some sort of elaborate prank on him, and she finds herself biting back a smile. “I’m going to leave and tell Monty this before you change your mind,” he says, slowly inching out of the tent. “No take backs!”

News of the party travels fast around the camp and she’s had no less than three different people ask her if it was really true.

“Does Bellamy know about this?” asks Miller while Clarke is disinfecting her suture kit after patching up a kid whose knife slipped while skinning a rabbit.

A dull flush colours her cheeks. “What Bellamy doesn’t know won’t kill him,” she sniffs, wiping her tweezers with the cleanest piece of linen she could find. “Besides, you really think the king of chaos is gonna have a problem with a little fun?”

“If he doesn’t know about it, then maybe,” he shrugs.

“If he has a problem with it then he could just take it out on me. It was my idea anyway and I can handle Bellamy just fine.”

Miller snorts and says something under his breath that sounds strangely like, “Ain’t the truth,” and Clarke glances sidelong at him.

“What was that, Nathan?” she asks sweetly while trying to recall just how observant Miller really is. It’s not like-- she and Bellamy only hooked up that one time. That was it. No one would know about it unless they were told and Clarke’s pretty sure that didn’t happen.

But the comments on the other hand. Well.

She would just like the world to know that what she does with Bellamy Blake is not flirting. It’s banter. Friendly banter between two co-leaders who are acquaintances at best. That’s all.

His lips twitch, eyes gleaming as though he’s somehow able to register her internal panic. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Bellamy gets back around mid afternoon with his group and she can hear the commotion that goes on outside as everyone tries to get the first pick of the goods. Clarke’s not there though. Instead she’s stuck in medical tending to about three different patients.

Apparently the prospect of a party makes teenagers go stupid. Who’d have thought. She’s almost regretting her decision already.

Bellamy pops in while she’s bandaging a sprained ankle, still all sweaty and travel-worn, which is always a good look on him. He gives her a quick nod hello when he sees that she’s busy and she returns it with a distracted smile.

It takes her another thirty minutes or so to finish up in medical and send everyone off on their way before she can head back to her tent. The sun is already low in the sky, close to setting which means the party will be underway soon. Clarke’s both excited and exhausted by it already.

Her tent is just a few paces from the dropship, keeping her close to the med bay in case there’s any sort of emergency. It’s small and she’s lucky enough that she doesn’t have to share it with anyone else. All there is in it is her bed which is just a pile of dried grass wrapped in parachute material and covered by as many blankets and furs she could get a hold of, a rickety desk that she has balanced with some rocks, and a small trunk that holds her measly belongings.

On top of her bed there’s a pile of  _ things  _ that weren't there when she left this morning. Some paper and charcoal and all sorts of different kinds of clothes. Tank tops, a couple of henleys and t-shirts, a thick sweater for the upcoming winter months. There’s also a new bra thrown into the mix, as well as some underwear and socks, and for some reason it makes her blush.

“I guessed at your size,” a voice says from her tent flap, making her jump.

Bellamy grins as he walks inside. His hair is wet, darkening the collar of his t-shirt and there’s a bead of water slowly creeping along the line of his jugular. She tries not to stare. “Since you were busy and all that.”

She hitches an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

“I’ve had firsthand experience with them.”

“That’s vaguely creepy.”

“I was trying to do something  _ nice _ ,” he huffs, “Look at the thanks I get.”

“Thank you Bellamy,” she tacks on dutifully and he rolls his eyes.

“So what’s all this about a party?” he asks, folding his arms while trying and failing to look stern.

“Jasper said we should do it to boost morale.”

“And we take camp advice from  _ Jasper _ ?”

“I thought it was a good idea too,” she shrugs, “Come on, what happened to  _ whatever the hell we want _ ?”

“Don’t throw my own words back at me,” he says but there’s still a faint smile on his face. “It was just a shock when Miller told me he was going to get more firewood for the bonfire that’s all.”

Clarke looks vaguely alarmed. “I never told them we could have a bonfire.”

That just gets another grin out of him, “See? This is why you need me. Who else is going to help you reign in the kids.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Maybe. But you need me, admit it.”

“I’m never telling you anything nice ever again.”

“Come on, say it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Just admit it and I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, relenting at last, “Fine. Maybe you have certain values that make it conducive for me keeping you around.”

His grin is sharp. “Good girl,” he says, “See, that wasn’t too hard.”

There’s those words again, the simple little  _ good girl _ that he gives to her so easily, so casual. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t think much of but has Clarke’s skin tightening in anticipation.

Bellamy says a couple more things that she doesn’t quite catch but it’s fine, she just nods along absentmindedly and it seems to work. He leaves her alone soon enough and once again Clarke is left alone with her thoughts as she trails a finger over the lace trimmed neckline of one of the tank tops.

Her realisation wasn’t sudden, more like a gentle slip, one that she resisted most of the way.

Clarke won’t lie, she doesn’t really have a lot of…  _ experience _ with certain things. Relationship things. Sex things. She was thrown into the Skybox just after she turned seventeen which means that that  _ experience _ was limited to sloppy makeout sessions, fumbling hands, and only two hickeys at the very most. Hell, Finn was the first person she ever slept with in her life.

So yeah, Clarke doesn’t really know a lot of what’s going on there.

She knows the abstracts of it, her likes and dislikes. She knows she likes girls and boys alike. Hands and mouths. A mix of soft and exploratory as well as the sudden sting of pain from time to time.

But with Bellamy it’s different.

Well, not entirely different. She does like his hands and mouth and everything else in between, but he’s made her realise that she likes other things too. Like the praise he bestowed on her making her glow from the inside out. It’s not something she’s really given much thought to until recently but she realises that she quite likes it.

(And if his words-- those sweet little ‘ _ good girl _ ’s and ‘ _ you take me so well’ _ s and of course she can’t forget his ‘ _ don’t you want to be good for me princess?’ _ \-- show up in her dreams and make her come harder than she ever has on her own, well. So be it.)

Clarke splashes some water from her wash basin on her face, hoping the frigid temperature will help override the flush that has overtaken her face. She gets ready slowly, giving herself a perfunctory wipe down with a washcloth and finger combing her hair into a braid. 

She hesitates as she gets dressed though, bypassing one of her old shirts to trail a tentative finger down the pale pink sweater he brought back for her. It’s soft and thick and unlike anything else she’s ever owned. Everything on the Ark was all muted greys and washed out blues and muddled browns, and then they were sent to earth with just the clothes on their back. Even their scavenging missions, while fruitful, always yielded clothes that were at least a century old, all the colour leaking out of it.

But this one is a soft shade of pink, like cotton candy or a dusky sky, so pretty that she finds herself grabbing it from the pile and slipping it on over her tank top, stumbling out of her tent before she can change her mind.

The party is just starting from what she can see, Monty ladling moonshine into metal cups while Raven and Wells bicker over the best way to start the bonfire. Jasper accosts her before she could even make it ten feet and hands her a cup of moonshine, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

He makes her cheers with him and she hisses a bit at the burn.

“Aren’t you  _ excited _ ,” he says.

“I’m a bit terrified that someone might die tonight,” she tells him.

“Of fun!” he says heartily, and then he’s skipping off to god knows where before she can get out a worried, “Jasper, no--”

She can’t do anything else other than watch him go, eyebrows furrowed into a worried frown as she gnaws on her bottom lip. No one else seems to share her emotions, too busy standing around and chatting with makeshift cups in hand. Most people have the night off, save for a scant team of guards keeping watch at the perimeter. People seem to be having a good time, indulging in moonshine and snacking on jerky and wild berries and nuts that they managed to scrounge up. They’re all clustered into groups and the wildest thing that’s happening is a game of quarters that’s popped up in the corner.

It’s not that she wants to be a buzzkill-- after all, she’s the one who gave them the okay and it would certainly be in poor taste to take it away now-- but she can’t help but be cautious. It comes with the position she guesses, being in charge of a group of teenagers. There are always a million things that can go wrong, things that can explode in their faces, and combined with the effects of alcohol? That’s just a disaster waiting to happen.

Clarke takes a deep breath. She’s just being paranoid, that’s all. The kids aren’t that reckless. At least, so she hopes.

She takes a healthy gulp of the moonshine and feels it settle in her veins, loosening some of that worry that’s knotted itself in her chest. After a brief moment of consideration she tosses the rest of it back.

It’s absolute torture on her throat and tears pool in her eyes almost instantaneously as it burns its way down but Clarke takes it like a trooper.

She grabs another cup and takes a smaller, more measured sip as she rolls back her shoulders.

Okay fun. She knows how to have fun. She  _ can _ have fun.

She finds Raven first, trying to get some sort of sound system going with their camp radio and a pair of salvaged car speakers. The radio was one of the most sought after items in the camp and it almost exclusively resides in Raven’s workstation since she’s the one who fixed it up and also since she threatens anyone who dares remove it with bodily harm. 

She gives her a critical once over, a piece of wire held between her teeth. “Nice sweater,” she tells her. “Didn’t see you in the distribution centre earlier.”

Clarke refuses to blush at her pointed words. “I was busy in medical. Bellamy grabbed it for me so I’d at least get something while I’m sewing up y’all’s sorry asses.”

“Oh of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She hums noncommittally and eyes her in a way that makes Clarke think that she wants to say something more but their conversation comes to an end when Finn turns up, holding two cups of moonshine and dropping a kiss to her temple.

Clarke takes it as her cue to leave.

By now the moonshine has begun to work its magic and untangle the knot of nerves in her stomach. She starts to relax, even have a bit of fun as she makes her rounds through the camp, talking to people and playing a game of quarters with Wells. They thoroughly kick everyone’s asses and she can see the respect for him go up when they respectfully bow out after trouncing Mel and Sterling.

She finally spots Bellamy through the crowd about an hour later when she’s on her fourth drink-- the burn has become more and more muted as time goes by and she finds herself able to down copious amounts of moonshine at an alarming rate at this point. He’s standing near the back with Miller and Mbege and a couple others doing god knows what but he looks up when he feels her eyes on him. Even across the camp he manages to drink her in, lingering on the sweater, the one he picked out for her, and it makes her blush.

She lifts her cup towards him and he returns the favour, lips curling upwards at the edges just a bit in a sly smirk, and she immediately turns back around.

Her skin is warm, flushed, and Clarke drains the last bit of her moonshine before switching to water.

“You alright? You’re looking a bit warm there,” comments Harper, glancing at Clarke sidelong.

She takes another sip of water. “It’s the fire,” she explains, “That and the alcohol together is making me sweat a bit.”

Harper hums sympathetically. “Yeah it can get a bit stifling after a while. Maybe take a walk to cool down a bit? I mean, the night’s pretty chilly anyway.”

“That sounds like an idea,” says Clarke, finishing off her water before wiping her palms on her jeans and standing up. “I’ll see you guys later.”

She’s sent off with a handful of drunken salutes and Jasper mumbles something unintelligible that she can’t quite make out nor could she be bothered to.

A couple people stop her to chat as she wanders aimlessly through the camp and Clarke indulges them, laughing at the bad jokes and admonishing the younger delinquents for trying to sneak moonshine from right under their noses.

The crisp night air also helps to clear her head a bit and she finds herself standing in the shadows of a tree and looking up at the night sky.

The stars look different from earth. Up in space they learnt that they were nothing more than great balls of gas light years away from this solar system and it was easy to transfer that sort of clinical thinking to the observation deck, looking out and seeing these balls of gas that surround them. But being here on earth she finally understands the mystique that surrounds it all. Understands the way that the ancient people were able to look up and write stories in the stars.

“Taking a walk in the woods, princess?”

She doesn’t jump but her breath does hitch, almost imperceptible to anyone besides herself.

“What, can’t a girl take a moment to herself?” she asks, not once taking her eyes off the sky.

“Didn’t say that, now did I,” says Bellamy as he saunters up to her, standing shoulder to shoulder. Heat radiates off of him and she swears that he could put the bonfire to shame. “Just wanted to say hi.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the heavens and looks at the boy standing next to her, hair windswept and messy, tanned freckled skin that gleams even in the lowlight. He smells like moonshine and woodsmoke and something else she can’t put a name to.

The moonlight casts interesting shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his cheekbones and highlighting his strong nose and full lips.

He’s gorgeous.

It’s annoying.

“Hi Bellamy.”

“Hi Clarke.” He grins at her and she can’t help but grin back. “Enjoying your party?”

“It’s not my party,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “But yes. I am. Are you?”

“Mhmm,” he hums noncommittal and she notices the way his eyes keep flicking between her face and the sweater.

“What?”

“What what?”

“You’re staring.”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe just a little,” he acquiesces, “But you can’t blame me.”

She lifts a brow. “Oh? And why not?”

He trails a finger from her shoulder, across her collarbone, all the way to the hollow of her neck and he lets it linger there for a second before dropping his hand. She lets out a shaky breath.

“You’re wearing it,” he says, sounding oddly pleased at the fact.

“It’s cold and this is wool. It’s warm,” she says defensively and it makes him grin more.

“I picked it out for you, you know. Thought it would make you look like a princess.” He tugs on a lock of hair that’s escaped the partial crown braid that she had it up in. “I was right.”

“Shut up,” she says, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. “You’re drunk.”

“Barely,” he snorts, putting his hands on her hips and rubbing little absentminded circles into the jut of bone that drives her absolutely mad. “You look good.”

“I look out of place,” she grumbles, thinking about Raven’s sly remarks and Octavia’s glower from earlier.

“Hey,” he says, frowning a little, “You look cute. Our princess.” He licks his lips, eyes darkening and she finds herself repressing a shiver. “ _ My _ princess.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Your princess, huh.”

“Mmhmm.” He takes a step closer to her so that they’re almost pressed chest to chest, his hands sliding up her back until his thumbs brush the underside of her breast. It’s a soft, barely there touch that she can’t even feel through all of her layers and yet it still sends sparks skittering down her spine. “Mine. Just mine.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” she says lightly even as her heart races in her throat. He keeps his touches light and it’s almost maddening. Heat churns deep in her belly and Clarke knows that she can only keep up the unaffected facade for so long.

He chuckles into her hair and she can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Come on, princess. You telling me that there’s someone else in this camp who knows how to make you feel this good?”

“I think someone vastly overestimates their self worth.”

“And I think you like making me work for it,” he murmurs into her hair, a hand climbing up her chest to curl around her neck, loose.

It lingers there, his thumb rubbing against her pulse point while his finger traces the edge of her jaw. She’s gone from butterflies in her stomach to a throbbing in her cunt, desperation flowing through her veins.

The look in his eye tells her everything she needs to know and Clarke can’t take it anymore.

She surges up the same time he leans down, the tension that’s been brewing between them for the past week and a half culminating into this. Their teeth clack together in their haste and she finds herself being roughly pushed against the nearest tree. The bark would feel rough against her skin had it not been for the several thick layers that she wore however Clarke is currently cursing herself for wearing so much clothes because she needed Bellamy’s hands on her, like,  _ yesterday _ .

It’s nothing like the last first kiss they shared; back then he was soft and hesitant, not wanting to come off as too eager, but now Bellamy is none of that. Now he takes charge, cupping his hand around her neck and holding her in place while he kisses her. It’s wet and dirty and maybe a bit sloppy since they’re both a little drunk, but Clarke’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or his lips that’s making her head spin. Maybe both.

“You have no idea how crazy you’ve been driving me,” he mutters, pressing his mouth down the column of her neck and making her pant. His hands have crawled under her sweater to rest on her tank top, flimsy enough that she could feel the heat of him, but still posing another barrier to that skin on skin contact that she desperately craved.

She can barely manage a snort, tossing her head back and barely wincing as the rough bark scrapes against her scalp. “I haven’t said a word to you all night.”

He sinks blunt teeth into her collarbone and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her. “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

He huffs, seemingly frustrated that she fails to grasp whatever it is he’s alluding to. It’s almost cute, the way his eyebrows draw together, the slight furrow between them.  _ Almost _ , because he pulls away from her to speak. She whines at the loss of contact.

“Just all of this,” he says, gesturing to her.

She raises an eyebrow. “What, existing?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and gropes her meanly in retaliation. “Now you’re just being purposefully obtuse,” he tells her, kneading her ass.

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” she half laughs, half moans because it’s that moment that he grinds the heel of his hand against the junction of her thighs.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he grumbles sullenly before leaning in and kissing her hard once more, tongue delving into her mouth and teasing hers, turning her legs into jelly and making her cunt pulse with desire.

He pulls back just as she was getting into it and she pouts. Her frown disappears mere seconds later though, because then Bellamy is dropping to her knees in front of her and quickly fumbling to undo her pants and her breath catches.

“Here?” she hisses even as she helps push down her trousers, widening her stance. The camp is a stone’s throw away, ten feet, fifteen if they’re lucky, and there’s nothing but a handful of trees separating them from everyone else. Clarke can even catch the barest hint of chatter, mostly unintelligible but still very much there. 

He lifts a brow. “Is there a problem princess?”

A thrill goes through her and she manages to repress a shiver. “No, not at all.”

His eyes are dark on hers and she can clearly see her desire reflected back at her. She bites her lip, canting her hips forward slightly, a movement that does not go unnoticed by Bellamy. A flicker of a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Good girl,” he rasps before decisively licking into her.

Keeping quiet is the  _ hardest _ thing that Clarke’s ever had to do, but miraculously she manages it, smacking a hand across her mouth to quiet her moans.

It would be a lie to say that she’s never thought about this, especially after their  _ moment _ on the trip last week, and now she can successfully say that reality is far better than anything her psyche could come up with.

His mouth is talented to say the least.

Her hands jump to his hair, twisting her fingers into his silky curls and he grunts into her skin before sucking lightly on her clit.

Pleasure creeps up her spine and Clarke finds herself tugging him closer, craving it harder. Bellamy isn’t giving in though, content to tease her with soft lick with the flat of his tongue and gentle nips and bites at her flesh. It’s easy and aimless and  _ fun _ the way he plays with her, and maddening to say the least.

“Thought about this,” he murmurs into the crease of her thigh, the words almost lost amidst the din of the camp. His hands slip down her hips, thumbs tracing the line of her labia. It’s quickly followed by his tongue and her breath stutters. “So pretty.”

“Stop teasing,” she whines.

His teeth flash against the soft, milky white skin of her thigh and she jerks at the sudden bite, a sharp inhale of air from above as she tightens her hand in his hair. His tongue laves over the spot, soothing the sting of it, and Clarke finds herself widening her stance further. She slips down the tree even more.

“Patience is a virtue, princess,” he tells her, taking his time and exploring her cunt with his fingers. His eyes are trained on her, taking in every twitch, every skip in her breath, every sound as if cataloguing it all to memory.

“Are you going to make me come or are you just going to stare all day?” she snarks, refusing to give in to the embarrassment that lurks beneath the surface. There’s just something so vulnerable about this, Bellamy on his knees for her and her pussy bared completely for him.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” he asks, casually as he rubs slow circles into her clit. She hates him. She really does.

“I preferred it when your mouth was otherwise occupied,” she grumbles, aiming a kick at his side.

He catches her ankle of course, and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss on her shin bone while keeping his eyes on her. 

Honestly, that has no reason to be that hot and yet she finds her stomach a flurry with butterflies.

Clarke bites her lip.

Bellamy smirks at her.

He hitches her leg over his shoulder and adjusts his position on the hard, dirt packed floor, widening his stance. She braces her back against the tree, bending her other leg to try and keep her balance as she grasps for purchase in his hair.

“I was just taking a moment to admire the view,” he says, shallowly thrusting a finger in, just barely teasing her entrance. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Another shudder rolls down her spine and god, she’s going to draw blood soon from how hard she’s biting her lip.

“Bellamy, please,” she murmurs, finally giving in and begging him for release. “I need your mouth. Please Bell.”

His responding grin is triumphant and more than a little cocky and Clarke knows that he’s going to laud this over her for  _ ages _ but she doesn’t care. Can’t care, not when he finally--  _ finally _ \-- puts his mouth back on her and sucks on her clit with a vengeance.

She’s positively dripping at this point and Bellamy groans, a low, obscene sound in the back of his throat as he licks into her, one broad sweep of his tongue all the way up her slit.

“Fuck,” he grunts against her flesh as she tightens her hold on his hair. Bellamy no longer teases her, instead he moves with a kind of single minded determination, licking and sucking and even biting at times, a sweet mix of pleasure and pain that drives her absolutely insane.

He teases her entrance with his tongue first, and then his fingers, slipping one and then two inside to fuck her with.

Clarke gasps loudly when he twists them, and accidentally knocks her head on the tree trunk when she throws her head back.

“You’re doing so good, princess,” he tells her, leaning back and just fucking her with his fingers for a moment. His mouth and chin glisten in the moonlight and  _ fuck _ if that isn’t a pretty sight. Her cunt clenches flutters and she knows that he can feel it around his fingers. “So fucking good.”

“Bell,” she breathes, pressing her heel into his back.

A hand-- the one he had pinning her hip in place-- skirts up her body to squeeze her breast, thumb and forefinger twisting her nipple meanly just as he takes her clit into his mouth again.

“I got you. Don’t worry, babe, I got you,” he says as he crooks his fingers up inside her to rub at that patch of tissue that makes her legs spasm.

“I know you do,” she pants, struggling to keep herself upright, “Fuck.”

Clarke feels like an elastic band being pulled taut, so close to snapping and Bellamy knows this. He redoubles his efforts, lashing her clit with his tongue and adding a third finger that makes her see white for one mind numbing moment. She keens out loud, too far gone to try and stay quiet and she clutches at his head, trying to keep him where she wants him, _ right there, don’t stop, Bellamy, please don’t stop. _

He doesn’t, just goes harder and she’s never been this wet in her  _ life _ , so close to the edge that it’s almost laughable.

All it takes is one last swipe of his tongue on her clit, one last twist of his fingers, and that’s it. Clarke’s done for.

She makes a sound, a half moan, half shout, mangled mess of his name when she comes, almost blacking out at the rush of pleasure that flows through her veins.

He sees her through it, and when she finally floats back down he stands up, knees creaking and making her giggle.

“You are too good at that,” she tells him, pulling him closer.

He comes willingly, smirking all the time. “I didn’t hear any complaints,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers.

Clarke neglects to give that a proper response, instead pulling him down for a sloppy, messy kiss. 

She can taste the tang and salt of herself on his mouth, strange at first, but then he deepens it, and she can’t say that she minds. His tongue traces the seam of her mouth and she nips at it before sucking on it gently, and Bellamy groans low in his throat.

They make out like that, sloppy and messy. Clarke licks at his mouth and chin, lapping up her own arousal, chasing the taste of herself from his skin.

He pulls away from the kiss but doesn’t go too far, still pressed against her, close enough that she can feel him, hard and hot, through the layers of his pants.

“I’m good at other things too,” he tells her, breathing deeply, “If you want to go back to my tent.”

She can feel the way her lips tip up at the corners of their own accord. “Are you propositioning me, Blake?”

“I’m making a suggestion,” he tells her. His hand drifts towards her pants which remain undone and hanging loose around her hips, and he lightly circles her clit. 

Her body is still over sensitive and she finds herself jerking at his touch.

Bellamy smirks at her and does it again. This time she mewls pathetically.

“A mutual beneficial suggestion, don’t you think?” he asks, feigning innocence and Clarke isn’t sure if she wants to fuck him or fight him. Probably both.

She bats his hands out of the way and does up her jeans. “I hate you,” she says conversationally.

He just grins at her and kisses her again, brief and hard and bruising.

“Go,” he jerks his chin towards the crowds of the camp, “I’ll meet you in the tent in a few minutes.”

Clarke doesn’t have to be told twice.

Suddenly she’s glad for the party, glad that people won’t be looking too closely at her kiss bitten lips and mussed up hair and clothes that’s only halfway on. And if they do, well, she can only hope that they’re either too drunk to remember it in the morning or something like hooking up with her co-leader is far down on their list.

She sticks to the shadowy perimeter of camp grounds as she quickly makes her way to his tent. It’s all the way in the back of the camp, close to the fence they put up because even when he’s supposed to be resting, Bellamy is always on the lookout for potential threats.

This tent is bigger than hers and she can see bits and pieces of Bellamy strewn throughout. A rifle propped up against the bed, another by his makeshift desk which is covered by ammunition numbers and guard schedules that she helped him with less than a fortnight ago. There’s a stack of weathered books, their pages yellowed and spines cracked, next to his bed and a small collection of clothes in an uncovered storage bin, folded neatly.

And then there’s his bed.

Like hers it’s a mess of mismatched blankets and handmade pillows and it’s far larger than hers, easily fitting two or three people comfortably.

The thought of it makes her blush.

It’s no secret that Bellamy has made his way through the camp. Both men and women alike vie for a chance to spend a night or two in his bed, and although he’s significantly cut back on it now that they’re running the camp with some sort of order, Clarke knows what he gets up to during his down time.

Briefly she wonders if this is all that she is to him, a casual fling, and then immediately banishes the thought, scoffing at herself.

Of course that’s all it is.

It’s not like she  _ likes _ him or something equally as ridiculous. Hell, she can barely stand him sometimes.

The entrance to his tent rustles and she turns around to see Bellamy pulling back the tarp to slip inside.

His hair is still all tousled and messy, and his mouth is bruised and almost swollen looking. A thrill goes through her when she realises that it’s all because of her.

“Snooping?” he asks, quirking a brow when he sees her hand resting on the top book of his collection, Tolstoy.

A delicate blush colours the tops of her cheeks. “I was waiting on you.”

“By going through my shit,” he counters, grinning as he lumbers forward to meet her.

“I don’t need to go through your shit to know that you’re a nerd,” she sniffs, trying her best to appear apathetic even as her hands skirt up his chest to grab hold of the collar of his jacket.

His hands settle on her waist, easy. “You wound me, princess. I like to think I keep some mystique around me.”

The frantic atmosphere that possessed them in the woods has calmed quite a bit. She’s not sure if it’s the orgasm responsible for taking off the edge or the brief break in which they both snuck into his tent, but the raw desperation has cooled into something else entirely.

Instead the mood is lighter, almost  _ fun _ .

“You, Bellamy Blake, are an open book,” she announces before tugging him down to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

He responds immediately, the slow, sensual slide of their lips as his hands slip underneath her sweater to rest on her tank top. Bellamy begins to walk them backwards, towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss. The back of her knees hit the bed and she sits down, pulling him with her.

Clarke kicks off her boots and he does the same, a hand cradling her jaw and fingertips tangling in her hair as he quickly turns the kiss dirty.

She moans into his mouth and suddenly the need is back, her hands scrambling to push his jacket off while simultaneously ridding him of his shirt.

“Off,” she murmurs into mouth, tugging on the fabric, and he nips her bottom lip.

“You first,” he retorts, pulling the hem of her sweater. He steals one last quick kiss before sitting up.

Bellamy leans back and shrugs off first his jacket and then his shirt, and Clarke follows suit, discarding her sweater somewhere off to the side, not once taking her eyes off him.

For a moment her brain short circuits at the sight of toned, tanned, brown skin in front of her. It’s not like she hasn’t seen him shirtless before, because she has, but it’s still always a sight to behold.

Bellamy is ridiculously fit.

And he knows it too, considering he’s flexing just to be an asshole.

“Dick,” she huffs, pushing herself up on her knees so she could grab his face once more.

“I’m just making sure it’s worth your while,” he snarks back in return, and she pinches the inside of his bicep.

“Is this part of the Bellamy Blake experience?” she asks as she settles in his lap. He’s hard between them and she can’t help but buck against him. “All this and in return I get my name carved into your bedpost?”

“Joke’s on you, I don’t even have a bedpost,” he snorts as he lowers his head to mouth across the curve of her breast peeking through the top of her tank top, bordered by lace trim. “I think you’re still overdressed.”

He sinks blunt teeth into her cleavage and she moans with it, grinding down on his thigh. She’s still mostly sated from their previous fun, but there’s just something about Bellamy that has the threads of desire stirring once again, her insides still warm and wanting.

“You got this for me,” she sighs, “Thought you’d at least like to see me in it.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes when he looks up at her and she immediately regrets saying that. 

“You getting dressed up for me, babe?” he croons, slinking up her body and skimming his nose along her jaw. “Don’t get me wrong, you look pretty in it but I’m sure it’ll look prettier on the floor.”

His teeth tugs on her earlobe and it gets a breathy moan out of her.

She huffs a little. “You’ve got all the lines, huh?”

“It depends, are they working?”

Clarke laughs, a short, surprised sound and he grins at her, pleased with himself.

“Come on,” says Bellamy, pushing the tank top up over her ribcage. “Lemme get my hands on your tits. Show them some love too.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes at his words, even a satisfied flush works its way down over her neck and decolletage. Clarke pulls of the tank top and tosses it to the side and then before nerves could get the best of her, she unclasps her bra and tosses that too.

His eyes immediately fall to her chest and she gives him a moment to take it all in. Now it’s her turn to smirk as she leans back, carelessly caressing a breast and flicking at her nipple with her thumb. Bellamy makes a hungry sound in the back of his throat and bats her hands away, replacing it with his own.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he swears against her skin, his lips joining in on the fun as well. Every swipe of his tongue makes her breath hitch, every twist of his fingers makes her gasp. “So hot, look at you.”

Clarke feels like she’s burning up, her skin too tight for her body and her cunt throbbing with need as she squirms against him.

“Bellamy, please,” she gasps, arching up into him as his teeth scrape over a nipple. “Come on, I wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah?” He grinds his hips into hers, letting her feel him and fuck, Clarke has thought about this since that very first moment but reality is ten times better. “Well why didn’t you say something before, baby?”

“Because you were being a fucking dick,” she says, hooking at leg around his waist and meeting him thrust for thrust. They’re both still clothed from the waist down and she shivers from the friction. She could probably get off on this alone if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. What she wants is Bellamy’s cock buried deep inside her cunt.

“You don’t have to be  _ rude _ , Clarke,” he shoots back at her, kneading her ass meanly before popping open the button to her jeans. “Take ‘em off.”

She cups his bulge in a hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “You too,” she winks.

They both hurry to kick off their pants and socks and Clarke wins that particular race, getting naked before he does. His pants are halfway down his legs when she turns on him and shoves him back down on the bed.

He lands with a soft ‘whoosh’ the air being briefly knocked from his lungs, but it’s quickly sucked back in when she climbs on top him, perching herself on his thighs as she takes his cock in hand.

“My turn,” she grins wickedly, and he just groans when she circles the head of it with her thumb.

“Fuck, whatever you want, princess,” he says a little brokenly as he watches her jerk him off slowly through halflidded eyes. 

Bellamy sprawls back against his blankets, head resting on a pile of pillows and an arm strewn above his head, smirking a little. “I could get used to this,” he rasps out, flexing his quadriceps beneath her.

She rolls her eyes and then squeezes his length, mean, and it makes his hips stutter in her grasp.

“I wanna fuck you,” she says again, finally releasing him and bracing both of her hands on his chest. It makes him whine. “Like this.”

“By all means, princess,” he says, the tension obvious in his voice, “Please.”

Behind her there’s the soft ‘fwump’ of fabric as he finally manages to kick his pants off. She takes him in her hand once more, running her slit over his length a few times and getting him all wet.

Clarke anchors her knees on either side of his hips, rising up above him, and his hands find themselves on her waist.

When she sinks down on him, they both groan in tandem. She takes him slowly, inch by inch and when he’s finally bottomed out she releases a shaky gust of air.

For a moment they stay like that, Clarke getting reacquainted with the stretch of him and Bellamy doing his best not to move. The last time they did this she was sore for  _ days _ .

She wants to feel that way again.

She rocks her hips against his, an experimental roll, and it gets a soft groan out of him.

“That’s it,” he cajoles her as she does it again, harder this time, “There we go princess, just like that.”

The words go straight to her cunt and she lifts off him before twisting her hips back down, again and again until he’s meeting her thrust for thrust. The muscles in her thighs start to burn but she revels in the bit of pain it adds into the mix.

Clarke knows that she’s playing on borrowed time right now; Bellamy is not one to let up control that easily, especially in the bedroom. She’s only here, on top of him, because he wants her to be. And then when he no longer wants that, well, she can only go along for the ride. Pun intended.

But fuck if it doesn’t make her feel good.

She likes the way it makes her feel as though she’s in control here, likes the way he’s looking up at her with hooded eyes and lust darkening his entire face, his whole body on display for her to touch and caress. 

“God,” she gasps, bracing a hand on his chest and fucking him in earnest now. The air is filled with the sound of their harsh breaths and the slap of skin on skin.

“It’s just Bellamy,” he says, a cocky smirk on his face as he shamelessly stares at the way her tits bounce with every thrust.

She rolls her eyes, slowing her pace until she’s just rolling her hips against his. “Such an ass,” she huffs, not for the first time that night.

“Admit babe,” he says, cupping her breasts in his hands as he lets her fuck him, “You like it.”

“I will walk out,” she threatens, twisting one of his nipples meanly.

He moans unabashedly. “Yeah?” he breathes, a hand slipping to press against the small of her back so that her pelvis tilts into his. “You sure you wanna do that?”

“You make me want to.”

Bellamy sits up without warning and she squawks as it throws her off balance. She doesn’t fall though, can’t fall, not really, not when he has his arms around her like this.

He pins her against the bed, putting her on her back now and fucks into her once, twice, hard enough that she feels her entire body slip up against the sheets.

“Where you gonna go, huh princess?” he pants, hips snapping into hers as he gets his fingers on her clit. “Name one person who can fuck you this good in this camp.”

Clarke swears, scrambling for purchase as he sets an unforgiving pace. What was once a slow building orgasm off in the distance now suddenly hurtles towards her, sending her towards that precipice within minutes. She feels it in the way her toes curl against the sheets and her fingers tremble as they clutch at his back.

Her eyes flutter shut as she tries to chase that feeling but she’s rudely yanked out of it when he grabs hold of her chin and roughly turns her face front again, back towards him.

Bellamy slows his pace until he’s rolling his hips against hers, pushing her leg up so that she feels him deeper and she can’t help but moan brokenly.

“I asked a question, Clarke,” he growls, the hand on her jaw slipping down to her neck. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t apply any pressure at all, just lets his fingers rest against her carotids, and that’s enough to make her heart stutter to a stop before picking up double time again.

“No one,” she gasps out, feeling her cunt flutter around him, painfully close to coming, just needing one last final push. “No one, just you.”

A mean smirk unfurls across his face and he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. “Good girl,” he murmurs before seizing her lips with his and kissing her roughly. 

He picks up the pace now, sloppy and rough and vigorous, both of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat and breathing hard due to exertion. His kiss is deep and dirty and she clutches at his back, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulder to the point where she’s certain she’s drawn blood but Bellamy doesn’t complain.

She arches her back and he splays her out open even more. Clarke is pretty sure she’s not that flexible but in the moment she feels like a fucking gymnast, ready to be twisted into whatever position he sees fit.

They both get driven over the edge together, Bellamy half a second before she is. She clenches down on him and his hips stutter as he swears into her mouth, and then his thumb grinds up into her clit and she sees stars.

He buries his face in her neck as they both gasp for breath, gulping down oxygen like a starving man. Sweat pools under the crease of her breasts, collecting in the hollow of her collarbone and beading along her hairline. Bellamy doesn’t help matters. He’s a fucking furnace curled around her but she doesn’t have the heart to push him away. Instead she begins to comb her fingers through his hair as they both wait for their heart rates to come down.

The blush starts in her cheeks and works its way down her neck until it covers her chest.

Clarke thinks that that must have been the  _ filthiest  _ round of sex she’s ever had in her  _ life _ .

Unbidden, a giggle rises to her lips and she can’t squash it in time. It’s followed by another and soon her entire body is shaking with silent laughter.

Bellamy props himself up on his forearms. “What? What is it?” He prods her ribs, hoping to get an answer but it just makes her laugh even more.

When she finally calms back down he’s still looking at her questioningly and it brings a soft smile to her lips.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he says, flashing her a crooked grin before rolling off of her and hopping out of bed to find something to clean them up with. “Why am I ridiculous?”

“You know,” she says, scooting back up so her head is pillowed by one of his blankets, “Your whole tough guy persona.”

He quirks a brow as he chugs some water from his canteen before passing it over to her. “You saying I’m not a tough guy?”

“Need me to stroke your ego, Blake?”

“Gimme about fifteen minutes and I’ll let you know,” he snarks back at her before tossing his washcloth at her.

She catches it and blushes as she wipes up the mess between her thighs, trying her best not to meet his eye.

Bellamy either doesn’t catch her newfound embarrassment or just doesn’t care, choosing instead to climb back into bed with her. He’s still brazenly naked, skin sticky with sweat, and he grabs one of his books from his makeshift night stand.

She watches him as he flips it open to his last spot and starts reading, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

“I should probably go,” she says, that stupid blush making a reappearance once more on her cheeks.

“You don’t have to.”

Clarke squints at him, unable to get a good read on that cavalier tone of his.

His eyes flick towards hers from over the top of his book and he clears his throat.

“I mean you could stay. For a little while. Catch your breath and all that.”

“Right.” 

She’s still sitting on the edge of his bed, bare feet dangling above the ground.

Bellamy goes back to his book.

“I’m going to put on my clothes.”

“Okay.”

She stands and immediately feels the pull in her muscles, hamstrings already sore from the position he had her in and she hisses.

A self satisfied smirk appears on his face. Clarke throws a sock at him and he barks out a laugh.

In the end she just tugs on her underwear and the tank top, forgoing her bra and crawls back into bed with him, though not before kicking him in the shins, just because.

“It’s only because the party's still going on,” she grumbles, stealing a pillow from under his back. She prods his calf with her big toe. “Tell me what you’re reading about this time, you big nerd.”

He grins at her and launches into a play by play of Caligula’s rule, telling her stories of incest and cruelty and pleasure barges on Lake Nemi.

She stays, long after he’s finished with his run down and has settled in to read his book.

Outside she can hear the party starting to wind down and she knows that that’s her cue to get going. To sneak out before anyone realises that she’s gone or worse, before she has to make a walk of shame. But outside is cold and Bellamy’s bed is warm and soft and he’s started to card his fingers through her hair as he hums off key, so she figures that maybe she can stay a little while longer.


End file.
